from bed, earlier that usual

yesterday’s stream bothered me to read it’s cadence was off and the words disagreed

i can’t go back for another year 

to put in the right ideas to make my feelings clear yet i hold dear every rush to second gear as i round my fifth sentence the flow starts making sense and i could give you a buck fifty but i only have thirty cents which you should surely spend on cindy to get into the cinema so she can get lost in the screen where she’ll never be seen and the only act she’s in is an obscene in-between of broken strength and adrenaline that nobody cares about as we stare shout and keep your eyes down, focus on the crown of my head as i spin round the glitter glue that left you when years passed by, the ones you long for now with your oldest goodbye i slipped yesterday and wished we gathered more in the courtyard of forgetting that sunday afternoon, just us, that’s me and you, that’s the only two i think of when the pallid stall door closes in my heart’s top drawer thinking of bleeding myself on the kitchen floor to make sure you knew that’s all that’s left, a goodbye letter written in panic. the final slam of my eyelids shut. not my game. i move through easy rhyme coming back to you every time a wish and thought there’ll be something new scarecrows in our field and a week for us to chew, on the fat of our love while the buzzards swim above and play, leaving our discontent hearts melting in that summer day.

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